The Witches Apprentice
by Hetaliawall
Summary: Matthew is a young boy living in 1640's England when he discovers his mothers secret, she is a witch, and he is one as well. He starts to learn the trade, but when history rears its ugly head will they be able to escape the Witch finder General himself? (Mostly a family story, but there is a small bit of fem England/ France here, as well as a /ton/ of history. Like a lot guys).


The Witch's Apprentice

_Mother always said that I did have a gift, even though I know that was mostly just flattery._

_When I first began, I was horrid at even the simplest of incantations that she taught me. I could not even properly pronounce the names of the deities I was supposed to invoke. Horus, Michael, Odin, Isis: they all came out as a jumbled mess in my childish tongue. I learned though, and through it all, my mother was there, encouraging me and praising me for the slightest victory. I was known in town as being one of the best healers in all Essex, or rather soon to be the best. I couldn't have done it without her, and so dear reader, I need to tell thee my mother's story, so that she may live on in words. Perhaps I should explain first. My mother and I are witches. Do not be startled by this, do not throw out this story, we are not what thee think. _

_ By the end of this letter, I hope that thines opinion of witches will have changed. If not, well, perhaps then thee will be able to track this letter back to my house. Maybe thee will be able to get a mob to go to it, with torches blazing and words flinging, but I will not be there. I will be long gone into my father's land, France. There perhaps I will settle on a small village and become the town's healer until I am driven away again. My mother warned me that my life might be like this. Not many are as accepting (or perhaps insane) as my father. (Truly us being witches is not the oddest part of our family, since my father is French and my mother is now "English.") There is one more thing I must tell thee before the story may begin. Our family was odd, interesting, and always in a state of chaos. My parents had five children, my father must have been insane for accepting that his wife was a witch, and as for me? Well, I'm a male witch. This is the perfect disguise thee see, this combined with my natural aptitude for magic, my mother decided to teach me her magic after only eight winters. _

_ I remember seeing it for the first time, her incantations, as she pranced around the large cooking cauldron. Rather than being afraid as admittedly most children should have been seeing their parents acting so odd, instead, all I could do was stare. It wasn't like the dance that thee might think of, with odd shakes and guttural noises as the embers lit up around her. No, have a better opinion of my mother please, she was an elegant woman and would never do such a thing. Her dance was more of what people think of when presented with the scene of Puck prancing around the lovers as he places the magic flower's dew into their eyes. A dance of grace, Fae-like, and charged with energy and passion. When she was done my mother finally saw me, and this is where my story begins. _

All I could do was stare. Her strange movements were odd, and yet, they seemed graceful, like the fairies she told us came from her homeland. Her long blonde hair was untucked from its usual coif and it flew around as she danced. I wondered if maybe it would get burned by the fire, as that too seemed to dance with her words. Suddenly, she halted mid-word and stared at me, speaking into the darkness of the kitchen.

"Matthew, love, is that thee?" she said, peering at me with her sharp eyes that could detect any hint of a lie, even those that hadn't left our mouths yet.

Knowing that I had been caught, I shuffled from behind the tarp that serviced as our door until father could make us a new one as he promised.

"Sorry mother …..Why art thou dancing?" I shuffled in my spot, digging into the dirt floor of the hut with my toe.

"Ah well, this...I was hoping to wait till later to tell thee but, I suppose now is as good a time as any." She came over to me, kneeling before me, and smiling as she did whenever she had a small gift for us.

"Would thee like to see something wonderful Matthew?" Her smile was even wider now, hinting that this would not be a mere trinket.

"Yes mother!" It was not too often that we got gifts, and this knowledge made me brim up with excitement. Perhaps she had an apple for me from our harvest in the fall!

She nodded and took my hand, leading me over to the bubbling pot, which was certainly wrong since it was not over the fire but instead was on the table. When I peered down into it, it was just a normal pot full of herbs and water. That was, until she began to chant in a language that sounded so odd I knew it wasn't anything I had ever heard before. As she spoke the cauldron began to bubble more than it had been before, and as her voice grew, so did the bubbling of the cauldron, letting out small pops and hisses and when she suddenly stopped, the liquid dissolved into powder instantly.

"How! How did it do that?" I exclaimed.

My mother leaned down into the cauldron, her voice calm and content as she scooped the white powder into parchment paper that I recognized from her herbal stores.

"It was magic, love, and now, we must see if thee can do the same thing. All of thine other siblings have not been able to do it yet."

As she talked mother moved around the room, bringing down an old book and quickly brushing it off before opening it, flipping through the yellowed pages, stopping in the center of the book and reading tediously.

"Ah, yes, here it is! Spell for discovering latent magic. Now then Matthew, sit down on that stool and just hold out this cup. Many people believe eggs foretell the future, and they are not wrong, but not many know its true purpose. This will tell us if thee will have magic or not within thee."

"But mother …It's...It is just an egg."

I watched her work, getting an egg from the cabinet and a cup, sitting down before me.

"Yes, it is simply an egg. However, what is more important is how the egg reacts with thee." Noting my blank stare, she explained more.

"An egg cracked in a cold skillet will not do anything, but given the correct amount of heat, it will cook. Yes?" I nodded as she smiled, holding the egg out to me.

"Then, love, this egg is magic. For a normal person, the egg will be like it is in a cold skillet, it will do nothing except make odd shapes that anyone can assume meaning out of. Poor kids all over have seen "terrible" things like images of coffins in the eggs and have worked themselves up over nothing but a blob. For people such as myself, however, the egg reacts."

I finally just held out the cup to her, since I would probably understand when she did it. My mother cracked the egg and shifted the yolk from one shell to another to keep it from escaping with the white into the cup. She muttered something and together we peered down the pewter cup into the egg white. It didn't look like much to me but my mother gasped, staring at the cup again and then swiftly grabbing it out of my hands and taking it to the fire to survey the blob better.

"Matthew, thou have the eye!" She whirled back to me, her face radiant. So then, having an eye in the egg was a good thing? It wasn't good for the chick though.

"Look, see here! This is in the shape of the eye. Thee have the magic Matthew! Thee must remember the magic eye I told thou about from back in Ireland?"

I peered back down into the blob, and I suppose there was an eye in it. It wasn't much of an eye though, but whenever mother talked of her knowledge from Ireland, it always seemed to be more ancient and special than the knowledge here in England. It had to mean something, and mother was clever, so she had to be right. Then perhaps I was a witch? That seemed odd, but it could be fun. A delightful idea hit me, and I gasped, looking up.

"Mother, does this mean I can fly!"

"What? Now, where did thee get an idea like that? We aren't those fairytale witches Matthew, this is real magic." She sighed as if she were explaining to me that there was no such thing as nymphs.

"Oh...Thomas in town said so." I didn't think it was that unreasonable of a thing to believe, everyone talked about flying witches on the day of All Saints.

"Well Thomas also thought that those berries were hawthorns and not poisonous, and we all saw how wrong he was. In mind of that incident, that is one of our jobs as _real_ magic users. "We must have a strict knowledge of plants, poisons, and how to cure illness with them, or how to make an antidote when some poor stupid lad eats a poisonous berry."

All I could do was nod to that. After all, I liked playing with Thomas so I didn't want to say that he was stupid.

"Now then Matthew, go and get some rest, alright? Tomorrow is a big day; we are going to tell thine father and then thine training begins!" My mother stooped over the coals of the fire, keeping one to light the fire in the morning and dousing the rest.

"Why can't I start now?" That seemed like a reasonable question to ask in the current circumstances. How did I come to have magic? Who gave it to us? What could I do? All of this would apparently have to wait for the morning as I caught my mother's borderline-disapproving glance. Not utterly disapproving, just nearly there.

"It is almost midnight Matthew, off to bed with thee." She gently pushed my back towards the frame of my bedroom and knowing better than to disobey I slunk in, climbed over my brother's resting bodies, and found my own pallet in the middle, slipping into it with a practiced quietness that came from years of having to sneak out and back in. At first, I couldn't sleep. My head brimming with the thought of magic, I stared at my hands for a bit. They looked normal, just a bit calloused from helping father with the building and farming. According to my mother, though, these pale calloused hands would also be able to make liquid turn to white powder in an instant. I didn't notice when I fell asleep. All I remembered was that night I had a dream of flying over the woods.

The morning began so ordinarily I almost thought that everything was the same. First, Alfred jabbed me to wake me up, then I heard the sound of clattering pans as mother cooked, with Michelle helping her by the sound of mother's praise. What with her being the youngest she got coddled a bit, at least that's what I believed. I stood, stretched out the crick that came with the floor of the hut, and placed my pallet along with the others so that we would have use of this room during the day.

The kitchen greeted me with the smell of bread and porridge, and perhaps an egg or two. I wandered in, took my place in the table and helped to shuffle down our plates, spoons, and cups. We ate in relative silence, other than the chattering from Michelle and Peter. When mother began to speak towards the end of the meal, I almost forgot to listen. At the word "magic," I tilted my head up quickly to watch the exchange between my parents.

"I'm afraid that Matthew won't be able to help thee anymore Francis, he will be learning from me from now on. He has magic." My mother spoke calmly, but the table's conversations stopped. If she spoke of magic so plainly at the table, then I was the last to know that my mother was a witch?!

"Matthew has it? That is good dear, yes? Yes, good! Then Alfred can help me, and thee will teach Matthew how to do magic." My father did truly seem excited, but I could not be too happy about this praise since I was still mulling over the fact that Michelle, three winters my junior, knew that mother had magic before I.

"Matthew? Are thee listening to me?" I knew when her voice had that tinge of exasperation that I had better come up with something, and quickly.

"Yes mother...thee said...that…" I could not remember any of my mother's words.

My mother sighed but decided to quickly end the pretenses as she stood from the table, acknowledging that I should join her with a nod of the head.

"I said that thee must not think that this is a simple matter. This is much harder work than working on any fence."

We bid goodbye to everyone else before mother continued her lecture on the way to her hut that held all her supplies which we were _never_ to enter without permission.

"Much of magic is mere herbology, and real magic is rarely needed to cure most ailments. Therefore thee must be an herbalist first, and a witch second Matthew. Thou must know every detail of every plant. Thee must be able to distinguish a plant by its roots alone, or its leaves, its flowers or even just its scent, in all stages of the growing season. If thee do not, thee could very well harm thine patient more than thee cure then, for many plants that are poisonous have siblings that are healing. Doesn't thou understand?"

My mother spoke, and I tried to listen while at the same time gathering the supplies into my arms as she handed them to me. A basket: knife, trowel, and finally a pair of shears. I simply nodded, everyone knew that one must be careful with plants from the woods, except for Thomas of course.

"Yes mother, I understand."

"Good, then let us go." She took the lead and led us off to the trail. Instead of following it my mother took a sharp turn and headed into the thick of the woods as I struggled to keep up, having to shuffle the basket back and forth in my hands to free one to force aside the odd branch, or to stabilize myself against a tree as we crossed over some rocks or roots.

Noting my struggles my mother leaned back and took the basket, letting me catch up to her as we entered a clearing of trees. Here my mother stopped and set down the basket until she found what she was looking for and stooped down, using the trowel to carefully extract the plant, roots and all. Even I knew the plant by its distinct shape and pink-purple petals. Perhaps this wouldn't be so hard then.

"That is foxglove, yes mother?" I made my tone humble. If I appeared too proud mother might decide to quiz me more.

"Indeed it is Matthew, good job. What is it used for then?"

I stumbled, thinking over this. I knew what it was, but I didn't know its uses. I was stuck.

"It… is used for… fevers?" That was always a safe bet since most herbs could heal fevers, but my mother shook her head to let me know I was wrong.

"No Matthew, I certainly hope thee would not assign this for a mere fever. This is used for swelling, congestion, circulation, and bruises. There is, however, one very important thing to remember about foxglove. It has a sibling herb, comfrey, that looks near identical except for the leaves. One is poisonous in large amounts, and one is not. Now then, guess which one is which."

This was a bit easier since foxglove's other name was "witches' glove," so that made it a simple choice.

"The foxglove, mother."

This time I was certain, and this time I got a nod of approval.

"Precisely Matthew. Now then, look at these leaves and tell me which one is which."

From her apron pocket, she drew out two leaves, one with slightly spiky edges and one slightly more smooth, and placed one in either hand. Sensing that she wouldn't approve if I tried to cheat by looking at the other foxgloves around us I only stared at the leaves, remaining silent for a few moments before speaking up.

"The one with the spiky edge seems like it would be more dangerous ...So that is the foxglove?"

My intuition was right and I was rewarded with a smile for my cleverness.

"Yes, Matthew, good job. I hope now though that thee sees how hard this job can be, and how important it is that thee are vigilant." Her shrewd eyes watched me as I nodded as seriously as if she had made me swear an oath.

"I promise to be vigilant, mother." To show her how serious I was I even crossed my heart. This only served to make her chuckle as she stood, brushing off her apron.

"I can see how serious thee are taking this. Thank thee."

She offered her hand to me and I joined her to go further into the woods to seek more herbs, and hopefully learn about them too.

_That is how it started then. Just a little boy learning that his mother was a witch and that he was one as well. It took me many years to be able to muster any magic for myself, but mother never did chastise me, even when I messed up spells and couldn't manage any magic until I was twelve. I trained by mother's side though through every waking hour that we could spare in between the normal chores and her running her errands that I couldn't join on quite yet. _

"What are the uses of mint?" My mother's words rang out clear in the house, even with the rain pounding on the roof as a storm swept in, having moved my studying inside.

"Mint, when used as a tea, can soothe a stomachs' pains, when used as an oil it will relieve a headache, and when used as a poultice it can ease a toothache." I ran the information over in my head and nodded when I was sure that I was correct.

"Yes, exactly, Matthew." My mother nodded with a small smile before turning to Michelle, helping her undo some wobbly stitches in her new petticoat, and then turned back to me, grinding some strong smelling caraway in the pestle.

"Now then, what about garlic?"

"That would be circulation, worts, and indigestion."

My mother nodded and under pretense seemed to check outside, humming in thought.

"Even though I cannot see the moon ...I know it is yet time for thee to go to bed Michelle, off with thee."

Michelle quickly put away her sewing things and scurried off to bed quietly, as she always did. Once she was gone, my mother beamed at me, hauling out the pot and placing it on the table, as I had seen it when I was only eight winters old. Now I was twelve, and it seemed from the way that my mother was gathering books and herbs, I would finally be able to do my first bit of true magic. I had been waiting for this for weeks. My lessons had recently shifted from normal herbal uses to their uses in spells, spoken in hushed voices when in the woods and still in quiet voices within the thin walls of our house, for who knew when a neighbor could be stopping by.

"I suppose that thee might have picked up now that tonight thee will be making thine first potion, the easiest of them all, a simple caraway love potion. What is the purpose of caraway in a love potion?"

Even on this exciting night, my mother could not stop testing my knowledge.

"It is used to keep lovers from straying. Since this is my first spell, I will also be getting my familiar tonight, yes?"

My mother handed me her book, which I promptly sat down upon the table, and joined my mother in standing beside the ingredients as she allowed me to take my place in front of the cauldron.

"Yes. Now then, place these ingredients in the cauldron in this exact order and then repeat after me."

Caraway, lovage, sage, and other herbs were added before I began to chant, adding more odd ingredients that were not disclosed to me yet as I chanted in the ancient tongues as instructed. I tried to not stumble over the words as I stirred the liquid which was growing thicker with each word and ingredients added to it. Finally, as I neared the end of the sentence, speaking of St. Dwynwen and Isis in the same breath, the potion bubbled without any heat and smoked a thick black cloud. In an instant, as I stopped, the smoke faded and I was left with the thick black liquid.

"Well done Matthew! This potion...Well, twas a fine first attempt, with a bit more practice thou will soon have a manageable potion."

I glanced around a bit in vain, seeking my familiar, but deep down I knew it would be a long night of failed trials until they appeared. Indeed, I was correct. For as the storm raged outside I continued to chant and stir until my voice grew hoarse and my arms weary. I eventually grew numb to it and failed trial after failed trial passed by me without my hardly noticing. I only had thoughts of my familiar. Perhaps it would be a black cat, a smart stealthy creature that would help me with my herbal collecting and warn me of neighbors visiting, or perhaps a hawk, something that I could use to hunt! Or, perhaps a hare. I would rather enjoy a hare as they are so swift I was sure that I could find some good use for one.

As the gale ended and the moon peeked out from behind the clouds my mother suddenly stopped my mindless stirring. As I gazed down into the cauldron there was no longer the black sludge of before, in lieu of it, a white liquid bubbled calmly.

"This, Matthew, is a fine love potion. Now, let us get ready for thine familiar."

My mother walked around the room, first going to the window and speaking in an odd tone that told me she was speaking an incantation and not to me.

"If thee be a beast of the wind, we open up to thee." She opened the window wide and paused before moving to the door. I stared back at the window, hoping that perhaps a hawk was waiting for a grander entrance, but soon had to follow my mother.

"If thee be a beast of land, we open our door to thee." As she opened the door I peered out into the dark for any glimpse of the gleaming green eyes of a cat but saw nothing.

"If thee be a beast of water, we open our spring to thee." My mother set a bucket of water upon the ground, and nothing appeared. Finally, she took the trowel and kneeled in the edge of our door and the yard outside.

"If thee be a beast of ground, make thyself be known on the grounds of our home."

She dug a small hole and gestured for me to come to her, I sat beside her and waited until suddenly a small pair of beady black eyes was standing before us, an intelligent gleam there along with its small shrewd nose and many spokes.

"Mother… It's a hedgehog."

For a moment we both stared at it as it stared back at us. Finally, it came over to me and settled down in front of my knees, looking inquisitively up at me.

"Well, Matthew...A hedgehog is a fine familiar! They… are plentiful and so it will never be suspected. Go on then, pick it up."

I truly didn't want to, but I obeyed and reached out for the little rodent, avoiding its spikes and picking it up from underneath where the soft fur was. As I held it in my hand and looked at it in better light it almost seemed alright.

"I suppose it is alright ...It is a wee bit cute."

The little thing stared up at me before lunging to my thumb, biting it. It took all I had to not fling the thing away from me.

"It _bit _me!"

My mother merely shrugged and made sure the little _rat_ wasn't dead.

"Now Matthew he is supposed to do that, thee can't expect to be able to do magic without paying anything in return." She spoke as if it was utterly normal for a hedgehog to bite my thumb.

"I suppose not mother...But it could have been less rude about it."

My mother stood then, picking up a scrap of fabric from her sewing basket and used it to pick up the little devil, placing it on the table.

"Come now Matthew, thee must name thine familiar before it can begin to help thee with thine spells and potions. Pick a proper name for it now, thee do not wish to anger him."

A name to suit the little imp? I already knew what that would be.

"I shall call him Lucifer." While my mother looked aghast the hedgehog and I seemed to come to an agreement. That name suited him and I believe he bore his new title with pride.

"Come hither Lucifer!"

"_Must_ thee insist on calling him by that name Matthew?" My mother looked up from her sweeping, going into an exasperated stance, having to use the broom to prop herself up.

"Mother thee told me that once I have picked a name it cannot be undone. He seems to enjoy his title as the Prince of Darkness."

My mother sagged more on her broom before nodding, her hands flying to her forehead and massaging her temples as if to ward off a freshly awakened headache.

"That is true...I did say that."

I nodded and turned to the Prince himself, feeding him some stumps of carrots with the leaves. I wasn't sure if that was correct or not, but it hadn't killed him as of yet, a bit unfortunate actually. I am not certain as to what the rules are for familiars, but it seemed reasonable to me that if one died the witch should get a new one. As I was mid contemplation my father burst through the door, holding a folded sheet of paper in his hands with print on it.  
"Francis, what has got thee in such a fit!"

"This, Alice! It is a new pamphlet, telling of Parliament. That is what I can understand from the title but I do not know the rest. Thee can read English better than I can."

My mother took the paper from him and began to slowly mouth out the words. I peered over her shoulder but could hardly keep up, even with her slow pace.

"The Heads….. of Severall Proceedings…. in This Present Parliament…." She read on, summarizing for us the information as she figured it out. By now the rest of the family had gathered around, eager to hear what this new pamphlet would tell us about the rest of vast England.

"This says that our king, Charles the first… is wanting to send an army into Ireland and Scotland! He says that there is an uprising there, but the Parliament is trying to oppose him. That is good, he can't do anything without the Parliament...although he did dissolve it."

She read more and shook her head before looking at all of us. Her gaze shifted over in my direction as she spoke.

"If this means strife in the country, then we must all be careful. Times of trouble bring people looking for someone to blame. Witches, we are an easy target."

Once that somber message had been spoken my mother set down the pamphlet and took up her basket.

"We must not allow that to stop us from our work. Matthew, come along."

That day I went to town with her, talking to people and being as friendly and talkative as possible, just as mother instructed. I could not help but worry. What if in only a few years, all of this changed? What would become of me? I couldn't imagine the people in this town turning against us though. We were well liked and most importantly we were _needed_. They couldn't have a hunt for witches when they needed the witches in question.

_After that time, we were torn, the village we knew grew tense with time. Nothing started immediately, of course, but over time things changed. The town's attitude grew hostile towards each other as more and more pamphlets floated in from both sides of the conflicts. Then, rumors that the king was supporting the Catholics in Ireland flooded in and well, that only made things worse. My mother had originally come from Ireland so it was assumed that she was Catholic. This was not accurate, but it was yet to be seen if the alternative was better or worse. Soon something was printed that shifted our minds away from hope. "The Witches of Huntingdon," as it was dubbed was all about the "Witchfinder General," or as my mother dubbed him "that self-righteous prick." Either way, when he began to terrorize our home, Essex, everything began to change quicker, a catalyst to already our present tensions. He claimed to come here to solve the people's problems. In Huntington he held trials that lasted for weeks, and he planned to do the same in our town of Saffron Walden. I knew the truth though, he only came to line his own pockets with gold and shillings. He took money from the religious and promised a new land purged of the evils of witches. _

The pamphlet sat on the table, nobody daring to read it yet. The last year had been tense, full of suspense, but now the proof of this fear sat before us, its thick black ink spelling out our doom. _The Witches of Huntingdon, 1646_. So then, I was now seventeen. It seemed odd that this was all I could think of as I reached over to take the paper, staring at the image of the Witchfinder General in all of his pompous glory. He was drawn in a glorious coat and breeches, a halo of light around him.

"Bloody hell. He thinks highly of himself, now doesn't he Matthew? Yet he calls us awful creatures. The prick."

My mother took the paper from my own shaking hands and began to read.

"Elizabeth Weed…. I remember her! We met at the sabbath once… I never went back to one of those, but Elizabeth found it useful to go for spells. Bloody hell they have her."

Her angered tone was all but gone as she looked at the paper dejectedly. My father soon spoke up, gesturing to the paper with a steel tone.

"This paper decides it- we must leave. We…. we must go up north back to thine home, Alice!"

For the first time in years, I saw my mother snap at my father, her face strained and a vein beginning to appear.

"What, to be murdered for being "Catholic"? We are stuck Francis, and I am not about to let some greedy man from Stour Valley run me out of my home! I have built this apothecary from the ground up, I have herbs in the woods, in the gardens, I have people that need me! I will not let this _Witchfinder General _run me away from my life's work!"

"This is not one man, Alice, this is a man with a _mob _behind him! A mob that is looking for people to blame for their relatives dying in this bloody civil war! _Merde_, do not let thine pride endanger our children!"

My mother looked back at us, pointing to the door like we were young again.

"All of thee, go and do thine chores. Matthew, make...oh I do not know just make something!"

We were ushered out, but if they believed that we would simply slink away. Well, witches were liars after all. I stood next to the door, my ear pressed against the thick oak as my siblings pressed around alongside me.

"Francis, we cannot flee. We must stay here, this is our _home_! Where does thee suggest that we go? Where would we be accepted? In Ireland we would be killed, the north will kill us, in Scotland we would be killed, where can we _go_?"

"How about my home? The French countryside. Thee would not think it so bad if only thee went!"

"Francis, we cannot go there, I cannot build a business, a _life,_ in a new country where I do not even speak the language!"  
My father's tone got softer and I had to press closer to the door to hear knocking softly against the hanging sign that was in need of a fresh coat of paint.

"I did."

"Yes… Yes you did. But Francis...thee knows that this was a different circumstance...England's witch trials are not ...used to not be as severe."

"I would keep thee and Matthew safe in France, but I cannot save thee from a mob in England."

A sudden knock on the door from the handle of a broom scattered us away as my mother's voice rang out.

"All of thee! Get to thine chores!"

Finally, we scattered and went our separate ways to our chores, the weight of their words pressing down on me. Moving to France? That just seemed ridiculous. Yes, we spoke French, our father had made sure of that but our mother didn't. Also, this was our _home_. The brook just beside the high road was where I learned to fish, the town was where my friends were, many of whom I had known since I was a mere babe. How could we leave all of this behind?

_In the end, we did not leave. If we had, thee would not be reading this letter, if we had, my mother would still be alive. _

The man wore a collar with such intricate lace it looked as if it had been spun by a spider. He stood a head over most of the people in town, gazing out at us in our stained and strained woolens while he brushed off a speck of dust from his own black leather glove. He took out a red silk handkerchief and coughed briskly into it before tucking it away into his small leather coin purse.

"As I am sure all of thee know, I am Matthew Hopkins, _the _Witchfinder general. For only a single shilling I will find and help thee dispose of all witches."

The crowd didn't even attempt to hide their complaints and grumbles. Who had a shilling to spare? Matthew hoisted his basket into his shaking hands. If he left now would it look suspicious, or would the crowds simply believe that he, like many of them, was sick of listening to the man rambling? I could not risk the former and so I was forced to endure a speech by the man himself. His words fell on deaf ears as all Matthew heard of it all was "_thou shalt not suffer a witch to live_." That phrase rang in his ears as he hurried home, his basket banging against his knees as he sprinted, nearly running into the door.

"Mother! He's here!"

"Peace Matthew, peace! I heard from a neighbor. What did he say?"

Willam set the basket of herbs down onto the edge of the table, the basket fell to the floor with a soft thud as he struggled to catch his breath.

"...I heard ...Little of it mother...But he was giving a speech on the Bible, saying that it says "_thou shalt not suffer a witch to live"_...He wants the people to pay him to find witches and ...That will somehow solve all of our problems...The harvest...The war...All of it is witches fault...That is what he said."

My mother seemed to contemplate this as she gathered the dusty rosemary from the floor and brushed it off before beginning to hang it up on the threads running through the roof of the house like a poorly assembled tapestry.

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Pretentious prick he is...he can't even come up with anything new now can he? Although Matthew, we should be proud that _the general_ _himself _believes us to be capable of starting a war that has….has no doubt killed off my own family and friends back home. But of course what are witches then? All we are is vile creatures intent on ruining this kingdom."

She whipped a spring of rosemary with a sharp snap upon the table and sighed, under her cap, I could see grey where only a few years ago it had still retained its golden sheen. She glanced up at me and quickly regained her composure, putting the bent rosemary sprig onto another piece of twine and letting the rest remain in the basket no doubt to be dealt with much later.

"I'm sorry Matthew...I am sorry for all of this….the magic...everything."

She laughed an odd laugh that sounded like she was choking on air.

"Now my only child that can perform magic is in town with one of the worst witch hunters of our era."

She looked at me and kissed my head, something she had not done in a while since I was now grown, or nearly so as she reminded me often. Not quite grown she said, but nearly there.

"I will not let thee be hurt Matthew. I will find a way to save us."

The day passed by in a blur, the Generals words ringing in my ears through every chore and studying that I did. I could not even risk practicing my magic and so all of that would have to be on hold. For now, I was relegated to the usual and mundane herbal remedies. In the span of a few hours, I barely had any work done. Only a few herbs gathered and chopped, one infusion of herb and oil distilled and a simple poultice was all I had to show for my days work. Rather than chastise me, when my mother saw the pathetic fruits of that days labor she didn't say a word and merely gestured me inside for dinner.

Dinner was quiet, nothing but the sound of our bread scraping the bowl for the last morsel of soup accompanied us. After dinner, we were expected to talk as a family and perhaps do some last minute chores by the firelight but instead, each of us milled to our rooms. I heard them start talking at midnight, Lucifer coming to feed having awakened me.

"Alice thee cannot go, this is not like thee at all! Thou hates the sabbot, thee swore thee would never return."

"I am an herbalist witch Francis...I need to go for poisons."

"Poison? _Poison_? Thee are _not _a murderer Alice!"

"Nay I am not. I am a mother willing to save her family. What are thee willing to do Francis? Run away?"

The door slammed shut, not even bothering Lucifer as I sat upright on my pallet, staring at the door. My mother. She would never.

When I awoke in the morning I was the only one awake, which could only mean one thing. My mother had yet to return. My hands shook as I worked through herbs for a comfrey tea, an old friend had requested it for his indigestion. A few leaves of comfrey, some peppermint, and finally some rosemary was ground under a trembling pestle and placed into paper satchels, some of the leaves having to be scooped off of the table from where they had fallen upon the table.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts as I hurried to answer it, Thomas was there with his usual wide grin.

"Hello Matthew, how art thee?"

Even on normal days, Thomas was not usually this cheerful, so something was making him this happy. I was eager for any and all good news and so I hurriedly handed him his satchel of herbs but lingered by the door.

"Busy as always running the shop...What's got thee in such a good mood Thomas?"

Thomas grinned, speaking as if he had the best news to share with me.

"That new chap from Stour Valley, Hopkins! Did thee hear his speech the other day? He said that he has ways of finding witches. Imagine that Matthew, being able to find the witches that are causing this war, the blight on our crops this year, that early frost ...we can get the revenge that we deserve! Or at least that's what my mother says, I'm sure thine is the same...If thee ask me it makes sense what the man says, after all, we didn't have all of these issues before, so there must be a coven nearby, yes?"

Years of being a troublesome child had taught me how to lie with ease, luckily Thomas was not my mother or else she would have easily torn through the mask that I placed upon my face, molding it into a neutral smile. Yes, it seemed to say, yes I am so excited for the witch hunt to take over our town and ruin my family!

"That makes perfect sense to me Thomas! Besides, this man used to be a lawyer, he is a learned man. Who am I to disagree?"

Thomas brightened, clapping my back with a bit too much force.

"Exactly! Any of us poor farmers, or herbalists, would be a fool to not heed the words of a man so wise. At any rate, he is going to start the process soon is what I heard. All he needs is a few shillings, which our minister is willing to part with soon! A wise investment I'd wager."

Matthew nodded meekly, his hand on the door, his lifeline.

"Absolutely, our minister is quite a wise man...Does thee remember when he caught us taking gourds from the Jinkins farm?"

Thomas laughed heartily, Matthew forcing himself to join in the reminiscing. His knuckles were turning white upon the door frame and so he ripped his hand off of his lifeline.

"Aye, I remember the man catching us and warning us about thievery and Hell. If we go to Hell for that Matthew, I blame thee."

Thomas's laugh was now grating upon Matthews' ears, why must he bring up death when Matthew was already so close to it that he could feel it breathing down upon his back!

"Well, I suspect that if we go to Hell for gourds, we will have much company. I am sorely sorry but I must bid thee well. Work calls."

Thomas placed his hat back upon his head with a groan.

"Work is always calling Matthew, I for one take every chance I can get to linger with a friend...but, thee are right, before the minister condemns us to Hell for being sloths."

With another ear grating laugh, Thomas left the house, leaving Matthew to nearly melt into a puddle upon the floor. He barely made it to a chair as he sank down, his head light and his breaths coming in quick. This was it. They would be condemned for being witches, that is if his mother was not already being condemned, she had yet to return as is! The day dragged on, until finally around supper his mother came in the door, his father swiftly turning to approach her, his voice strung high with worry.

"Alice! Art thou alright? Why were thee gone for so long?...thee didn't…"

My mother set down her basket which was stuffed full of harmless saffron, basil and caraway seeds, evidence of a market trip.

"Nay, I didn't. I went to the market Francis."

I played the part of a confused son well, pretending as if I had no idea what the two were discussing as I took the herbs and began to process them, plucking off the precious threads of saffron, not wasting any of the golden bulbs.

"Matthew art thou working or loitering?"

"Working mother…"

My mother nodded, gesturing to the door.

"Then I suggest that thee go collect some-"

A sharp knock interrupted my new list of chores, a ragged young girl flinging open the door, her cap knocked loose and her apron askew from what must have been a full run to our door. It was Thomas's sister.

"Mrs. Alice! Tis Thomas! He...He's sick! Dreadfully sick! We….We don't know what's wrong with him!"

My mother exhibited utter calm as she went over to her, placing a hand on the child's shoulder.

"Now love, calm down. What are his symptoms? I am sure that it is nothing too serious."

"But it is! He...He is jerking about, crying out, yelling about how he can't see…..He says he's going blind miss! It is like he is bewitched!"

My mother stopped, running through all of this in her mind as I stood aside, a pit growing in my stomach. The tea. No, I was certain, I would _never_ make that mistake! How could anyone be that stupid to make such a drastic mistake?

"Let us get to him then. We must see what all of this is about."

Her smiled wavered as she helped the girl set her cap straight before grabbing our own tools.

"Do not fret...I am sure that Thomas will be alright."

Every step I took to Thomas's house felt like I was walking through mud. A single step, then another, and then another. No matter how slow it felt like I was moving, I knew that I would soon be at his house, seeing him myself and not just hearing his state through the words of his sister. Thomas was always a joker, always dramatic, he was sure to be fine. He had survived poisoned berries before, this would be fine as well.

The house was stuffy with the heat of summer, the air still except for Thomas's groans, occasionally pierced by a shrill shriek. His room was full to bursting with his siblings, parents and the pastor. Thomas was as pale as the linens they had tucked over him, he twitched and shook as we entered the room.

"Now what is all this? The boy is sick, not dead! He needs fresh air! Now then, let me through to see him, and open that window."

With her usual self-assurance my mother strode over to Thomas as he lay in bed, she felt his forehead and his wrist, soon gesturing me over as his visitors left the room, leaving us with Thomas. Nothing my mother did seemed to stir him, she suddenly let his hand fall and turned to me.

"Matthew. Look at me."

All I could do was stare at Thomas, knowing full well what she was about to say. For once in my life my mother spoke in a harsh and almost cruel tone, her voice barely a whisper.

"Matthew I said _look _at me. Thou were treating Thomas's indigestion, thee said that thee would use comfrey, did thee not?"

"Yes mother."

"Are thee certain that twas comfrey that thee used in his tea?"

My silence answered her.

"Did I teach thee _nothing_? Did thee learn nothing? Why Matthew?! Why of all times, why must thee now make such a mistake when the whole town is looking for someone to blame?!"

I was silent at first, Thomas's hand shaking before me. My terror was soon mixed with anger in the pit of my stomach.

"Why did thou go to sabbat mother? Why would thee choose to poison Hopkins? Why would thee go back on all that thee have said, all thou have taught me?"

I stopped, my voice was beginning to grow too loud for either of our comforts and we sat in silence for a moment before my mother spoke again, her voice steeled.

"I did not go to the sabbat Matthew. I did not lie to thine father. I only went to the market. This I promise thee. Yes, I was on my way to the sabbat...but I did not go. What kind of a person...what kind of a mother would I be if I went back on everything I have tried to instill in thee and thine siblings?"

We turned back to Thomas, nothing but his whimpers being heard until she finally began to work, pressing a dampened cloth to his head and began to treat him the best she could. The mug that had held his "medicine" was stained and the small bits of leaves stuck tightly to its sides.

"He must have drunk the tea this morning…. Mother it has been _hours._"

"I know. I can tell...With how high his dosage was for the tea, and how long ago he drank it….Thomas is lucky to even be alive for this long."

"Well, surely there is some counterherb. Right mother?"

Her face softened and she gripped my shoulder, once again I saw that streak of grey threatening to fall out of her tightly bound cap.

"We will do all that we can."

That night we stayed by his side, placing cool cloths on his head when he cried, and steadying his hands when he suddenly broke out of his sheets, crying on about whatever his delusions were telling him at the time. Thomas steadily grew worse, his outbreaks coming fewer and fewer with longer breaks in between, while his breaths only seemed to increase in time and depth. It was near midnight when he rose up again, we moved with practiced swiftness to grab his hands before he began to swing, his pale face showed the sweat rolling down his forehead vividly as he fought against us with odd determination.

"I see them! The witch! The witch rides by night to kill me! SHE IS HERE TO KILL ME!"

My mother's hands fell swiftly to quiet him, holding his mouth tightly and clamping it shut as she kept him still.

"Thomas! Peace Thomas! Don't go on yelling things like that! Tis I, Alice! Do not let your delusions overcome thee!"

He quieted down and my mother swiftly withdrew her hand, easing him back down into his sheets.

"There Thomas. Rest now."

We both knew that the damage had already been done. By morning Thomas was gone. His mother's wails filled the room as we left to go home, dragging behind us our useless equipment.

_It was only a matter of time before the town found out about Thomas, his mother's cries were enough to wake up the neighbors and so the rumor would run swiftly through town. After the usual mourning period people would begin to wonder about the cause of death, then they would inquire about his last words and who was there to hear them. They would wonder to themselves, why would Thomas, sane and hardworking Thomas, scream about witches with the herbalist and her son in the room? All we could do was wait. _

_It happened quicker than I thought it would. _

He refused to touch the door, that much I knew from the way that he made his assistant John open it for him as if he were the king of England himself. I rather wish it was the king of England, then perhaps the town would have been working harder to keep him away from us. Instead, the people that I had known all my life stood behind the man in black, watching us with suspicious eyes as my mother calmly strung up the last of the comfrey, now properly sorted out of the foxglove. My father stood in the doorframe of his and my mother's room, holding Michelle behind him.

"Hopkins I assume? What does't thou need? Perhaps a tonic for that nasty cough of thines? I can bloody hear thee from a mile away."

"Silence. Listen well all of thee, for we have before us a clear example of the flirting words a witch will spread when she knows that she is about to be caught by justice."

My mother didn't even bother to hide her scoff as she approached the crowd, scanning through it.

"Is this thine version of justice then? Capturing a member of this town that has always worked hard to heal and comfort those in need, regardless of weather or time? Joseph when thine wife was ill from her labor I came in the middle of the night to heal her! I saved her and thine babe."

Joseph's low and slow voice came from the back, a man I had known all my life was now a stranger to me.

"How am I to know that it was not thee that made her ill in the first place? Thee might have done it just to make a quick quid! Thee killed Thomas, a _friend _of thine _sons_!"

My mother watched them all and sighed, straightening her hair and making sure that her hair was properly tucked under her cap. She stood with poise, like what I imagine Michelle Boleyn must have looked like as she walked to her own execution. A noble lady did not scream or cry, fight or faint. She walked with a cold acceptance and a desire to have at least her own actions within her own control. As for myself, I was safe. I was a man, a boy, and so I would not quickly be assumed. I did nothing as my mother walked forwards into the mobs heart.

"If that is how thee all feel then I suppose there is no need to delay this, I am sure that thou all must be very busy today. As for thee Hopkins I see how thine hand twitches for its gold."

If my mother was a noblewoman then my father was a knight, ready for a fight to protect his queen. Why could I not move?

"_NON… No._ Thee will not take her, she has done nothing wrong!"

He charged forth, blindly swinging as if he knew how to handle a fight when he could barely hunt. He was easily tossed back, stumbling into me. Why am I stuck like this? Why do I not rush forward in my father's steed when the baker snarls, his voice dripping with hate.

"Do not fight us Francis or else thee will be charged for assisting a criminal."

"That is not a _criminal, _that is my _wife_!"

"Peace Francis… all will be well."

My mother's voice sounded disjointed, not in my head and not in my ears, as if I was trying to grasp her words through an oaken wall. They took her away, the sound of their steps fading away. It was all done calm, orderly, tidy. Our house was not pillaged, no one was hurt, it was just all business. Yet, I still felt like screaming.

The air in the house was thick as we all stayed to ourselves, I only interacted with my father to give him a sleeping-draught, for I knew otherwise he would not sleep. As for myself, I stayed at the table in the kitchen and sat there, staring at the lines etched into the wood of what used to be our large family. My older siblings were gone off to seek fortune and safety for their own families, so that left Michelle, my father and I. As it came near noon, I began to hear a soft scratching noise at the door, with some faint and vain dash of hope I opened it only to find Lucifer awaiting his blood.

"_You…_.What have thee done for me? What did my mother's familiar do for her? What is the use of thee if thou cannot help us?!"

Lucifer only eyed my hand with his gleaming black eyes and lunged to it, I easily swiped the creature away. Demonic familiar of innate magical power or not, I was still ten times his size.

"_No._ Thee will get nothing from me until thee helps me rescue my mother!"

The little imp glared at me with an expression that was suddenly far too human, until he vanished. When he appeared again an hour later he came with a black bottle stopped with a stained and crumbling cork, I leaned my hand down to him as I stared at the bottle turning it around in my free hand. It did not take a genius to guess what was inside.

"This is a potion I am assuming? If it came from thee then it must be poison."

I set it aside on the table and stared at him as he drank his fill.

"Thee must bring me something else, I can't… I won't poison anyone. That is not how my mother raised me. This is not what she would want of me."

When Lucifer was done he left, I waited for him to come back with another potion, but he never did.

A week passed and as the night drew on the seventh day that my mother was in jail I took out that little black vial once again and contemplated it. My family had moved through the week as if in a dream. We heard rumors from all over the village. Our mother's imp came to her as a rat and so her guilt was confirmed. My mother was soon to be released since they never found the Devil's mark on her. My mother was condemned, they had found the Devil's mark upon her head after they had shorn off her hair. Theories, rumors, and threats flew around the village and yet none fell on my ears enough to make any of this real. My mother was not in jail, no. No, she was in town buying herbs at the market. My father was not sitting at the table, quiet for the past three days, barely eating.

My sister was not sobbing as she heard my mother bail, a sum that no one who lived as we did could ever dream to afford. I was not sitting at the table, staring at the herbs I had assembled before me to treat my mother's blistered feet that came from the guard forcing her to walk endlessly night after night to keep her awake to catch her imp. The vial. That little black vial was proof in my hand. I ripped off the cork and smelled the liquid inside, simple but efficient, it was arsenic, probably infused with magic to be more potent. Did I dare?

I stood with my bags, gripping the vial. I would end this. I would end my family's pain, my mother's pain, our country's pain by killing off the true evil in Essex. As my hand drew to open the door a thought stopped me. My mother had thought this as well. She had thought to kill Hopkins and yet she hadn't. _Why_? Why not kill the man who was tearing us apart? A man like that deserved to die, why should he have the choice over life and death? But then, what right did I have? If I killed him, then I would be as bad as he, or that is what my mother would be telling me now. I could almost hear her chastising me for even having this idea to begin with.

My mother would never forgive me for killing a man with magic, it went against everything she said. I set the vial down onto the table, staring at as it glittered in the light from the moon before swiftly shattering it, letting the contents spill to the ground. An uneasiness hit me, but I could only hope that I had made the right decision.

_I should have killed him. _

_I should have killed the man who killed my mother. _

_I shouldn't have let them lead her to the gallows where I heard the rope snap but did not look until it was time to gather her body to bury. Her feet wrapped in linens to disguise their bloody soles, her head covered in a cap to hide where her grey hair used to be, and a blanket wrapped around her as we buried her beside our cottage, a smooth stone from the riverbed to mark her grave. Now the house is empty, the garden pillaged by our own hands as we packed all of our herbs away for the journey to France. At the beginning of this letter, I told thee that I hoped thou would have a new perspective of witches, and that has not changed. I would not have killed him as a witch, but as a son who only wants his mother back, for even though she said that he has grown into a man he now feels like a child without her. _

_I should have killed the man who killed my family. _


End file.
